The Blood Of Brothers
by Fenrir Vanagandr
Summary: Sam is, to most, a simple man. He farms the land, drinks at the local tavern, and has always basked in the light of his older brother, Paul. But when winter comes, the killing starts, and Paul goes missing. Sam will walk the thin line between sinner and savior. AU/OOC
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight series or any of the characters used in the making of this story, they belong to the book sagas author Miss Stephanie Meyer. Any and all mistakes are my own.**

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><p><em>So I'll break it<em>

_Knowing what you said _

_The pain is what you make it_

_Sadly you are so mistaken_

_I will take you with a grain_

_And step into the changes_

_Throw away the empty heart_

_Right now_

_Never want to leave this place_

_And right now_

_See it in a different way_

_So right now_

_Even if you take me on_

_I'll stand the lonely _

_Stand the lonely_

"_Anthem Of The Lonely" – Nine Lashes_

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><p>He came from the forest, as most strange things do. The man who looked like my brother. He even wore my brother's boots and his fine navy cloak; however, he was something…other.<p>

Here I stand at the back of the crowd, separated from by a sea of overjoyed neighbours and friends. They're smiling, holding onto each other, a cacophony of sound full of questions and good wishes. The girls from the quaint little neighbourhood are giggling amongst themselves, catching glimpses of my brother's face and whispering words of jealousy towards his wife.

The watchmen claimed to have been the first to see him as he wondered through the pastures towards the city walls.

He had been shouting out his name: "Paul! Paul! Is here!"

I live in a three room cottage just outside the city wall. I think. No, I know I was the first to hear him. I simply kept quiet, curling into a ball in the middle of my bed to hide myself from the outside world. But I had to see. To know. So hunched over, I scuttled towards the window and peered out.

He moved with determination, his eyes focused on an unseen phenomenon somewhere ahead of him in the direction of the town square. He never looked over at the house, never once looked at me.

Then in the distance I heard a scream. Not one of terror, as the one I'd been keeping captive in my lungs, but one of joy. The eyes of the man who looked like my brother flicked over to the source of the noise' my niece, Claire, running out of the city gates.

"Papa!" she'd screamed, stumbling as she veered from the cobbled road and rushing through the knee high (shoulder height for her) grass and into his waiting embrace.

"Papa you're back! Mama said you were gone forever. I never once believed her Papa, for I knew that she was wrong. Papa I knew you would come back to us."

She snuggled further into his shoulder, her obsidian locks tumbling over the ornately patterned shoulder pad of his jacket.

Claire's yelling did not go unnoticed by the citizens of the town, and within the blink of an eye half of the neighbourhood had abandoned their designated tasks and ran down into the pastures to greet my brother.

"We thought you were lost to us my friend" Billy, the fisherman says, his voice breaking with relief.

"Thank the Lord you're safe!" comes the voice of Jared, my brothers best friend.

A cacophony of sound filled with yells and cries as the crowd slowly made their way back towards the town, where my brother was brought forth to the centre of the market place and assisted onto the small, make-shift stage.

"Paul is alive!" a middle-aged woman cries. "Spread this fortuitous news" Where in heavens names is his wife?"

As if planned to happen at exactly that moment Isabella's was made known through her overjoyed cry. The town's people parted, allowing Isabella to pass by unhindered to where her husband stood upon the stage.

If I could, I would stay right here hiding inside my little cottage until the day I ceased to walk upon this earth. However the lack of my presence would not go unnoticed on the day of my dear brother miraculous return.

When I finally step out to join the commotion, my face is ashen and sallow. I am not prepared to face the hordes of people that turn to stare at me, clearing a path for me to meet the man I had little desire to see.

"Oi you lot! Sam is here! Let him pass!" The crowd turn towards me and part like they had done for Isabella. I curse silently in my head, wishing that this day was a horrific dream that I would soon wake up from, leaving me alone and safe within the confines of my cottage. However this day was not a garish nightmare. This was my reality, as I made my way up the cobbled street towards the steps leading me to the platform. Up until this point I had managed to avoid eye-contact, but that brief moment of tranquillity was about to come crashing down around me. I stand before him as his hand lands to rest upon my shoulder. I have no choice but to look upon my brother's face. On the surface it seems a pleasant face, but behind those viridescent irises there is something more. Something else.

He steps forward and wraps his thickly corded arms around me, pulling me closer. The side of my head sliding past his to rest upon his shoulder, and had I not believed otherwise I would swear that I could hear his thoughts, an echo of my own.

_You are not my brother_

_I am not your brother. _

He releases me from his embrace, and I do not look at him again, afraid of what I might see in the dark disparaging depths of his eyes.

There are more questions, joke and exclamations, until finally, the crowd begins to calm and disperse, heading back towards their long forgotten tasks in their haste to see my brother. Only a few of us remain. My brother's closest friends, his wife, child and I. Someone, whose name I cannot recall suggests that we head to the local tavern and drink a toast to his arrival and before I can make up a plausible excuse to remove myself from this never ending horror, I feel myself being pulled along.

It does not take long for my brother and his friends to pass the point of tipsy to flat out drunkards, as my drink remains sitting on the table untouched. They laugh, jest, and tell stories and on occasion they break out into song, but I am yet to participate in the festivities. I sit at the far end of the table, content to observe him, trying to tell whether he has lost any of his mannerisms that made this my brother, or if he has gained any new one on his travels before ultimately returning home.

This man looks like my brother. He speaks with his casual charisma and walks with his knowing certainty and posture. He wears my brother's strong features and sees through my brothers eyes. His dark stubble emphasises his jaw, like my brothers did, and his tousled hair that falls around his collar in the same way. But this man is not my brother. He cannot be.

My brother is dead.

I, of all people, should know.

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><p><strong>AN: What do you think? Should I continue? Leave me a review and let me know. Remember this is just the prologue. <strong>

**Tah Tah for now **

_**Fenrir Vanagandr ~**_


	2. The Hanged Man

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight series or any of the characters used in the making of this story, they belong to the book sagas author Miss Stephanie Meyer. Any and all mistakes are my own.**

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><p><em>I cut you into pieces<em>

_Searching for your imperfections_

_I had plans to make you whole_

_But all my threads couldn't stop the bleeding_

_There's nothing left, but I'm not leaving_

_When all I know is you_

_I've been looking for a way_

_To bring you back to life_

_And if I could find a way, _

_Then I would bring you back tonight_

_I'd make you kook, I'd make you lie_

_I'd take the coldness from your eyes_

_But you told me, if you love me _

_Let me die_

_"__Let It Die" - Starset_

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><p>The first body was found Saturday night, or maybe Sunday morning. It was hard to tell through all the liquor rolling around in my stomach and the dull ache in my head. I was sitting in the same seat I always took, in the same tavern I always drank at. My brother, for he was definitely still my brother then, was sitting beside me, just as drunk as I was if not more so.<p>

That was one of my brothers few flaws. He was a proficient hunter, knew his way around a forge and was in the first pew every Sunday. But all those that idolised him, including his wife and child, either they did not know of, or chose to ignore, the hours in which he'd spent inebriated in that oppressive room, talking tough and being reckless. At one point he almost lost his house and horse to an English passer-by who challenged him to a hunting competition at three o'clock in the morning. That was one of the few times I had gotten him out of an unpleasant situation, not the other way round.

The door slammed open, rousing the sleeping forms resting their heads on tables, or lying with their backs against the wall.

"Come! Please! Come quickly!"

I couldn't make out to whom the voice belonged too, nor if was male or female. But the tone was belayed with a sense of urgency enough to demand a reaction. Still, a few of the taverns regulars simply groaned, shutting their eyes as they tried to ignore the commotion happening around them.

Paul and I, however, snapped to attention. Out mutual sense of adventure had hardly faded since the days of our shared childhood, but perhaps Paul displayed it more evidently than I did.

We staggered through the door, leaning on each other for mutual support as we tried to gain some semblance of balance. The air outside was cold, even though our bodies were warmed by the alcohol that spread like wildfire through our veins. I pulled the door closed behind us, sealing us off from the taverns warmth and light.

Whoever had called into the tavern had left by now, although I heard similar shouts nearby.

"Come on Paul," I said, "let's see what's going on."

Paul nodded slowly. He exhaled shakily and I could see his condensed breath float before dissipating in the frosty night air.

"Let's go."

It doesn't snow often in this part of Italy, but when it does it is the most spectacular sight. There wasn't too much of it here, in the centre of town, where the constant foot traffic leaves the cobble stones exposed throughout the year. But walk closer to the edge of the town, or past the wall, and you would experience a true white winter.

On such nights, when the earth itself shivered and seemed to retreat in on itself, it was not uncommon to find the frozen body of some poor unfortunate soul who had wondered too far outside the wall.

Finding a body in pieces, with their throat where their heart should be and their liver in something else's stomach, as we did that night, was something much rarer.

There was something else though, besides the pure brutality of the kill that made that night different. The body, or what was left of it, was discovered by a five year old child. This child had not been wandering the streets alone. This child had not slipped out of the gate into the wilderness. No, this child had not even stepped foot out of her own house.

She'd found her father's body, stripped of his flesh, lying next to her still sleeping mother. The child and her mother both said that they had heard no screaming and had seen no strange form lingering in the shadows of the ever present darkness outside their windows.

My brother and I were amongst the first to arrive at the scene. As soon as Paul walked through the door and into the main bedroom, where the smell of blood was greater than the touch of the cold, both the mother and the daughter ran to him and held him tightly.

The blood on the bed, the floor, and the ceiling belonged to one of my brother's old hunting friends. My brother had a lot of hunting friends.

Or he used to. Before the killing started.

But that was a long time ago.

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><p><strong>AN: So there you have it! The first official chapter of The Blood Of Brothers (this does not include the prologue) This is more of a filler chapter before we start getting into the back story of the mystery that is Paul, his brother (Sam) exactly where they are in Italy and what happened all those years ago. What do you think! Good? Bad? Downright awful or completely awesome sauce? Leave me a review and let me know. <strong>

**Tah tah for now and thanks for reading **

**_Fenrir Vanagandr ~ _**


	3. The Devil

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight series or any of the characters used in the making of this story, they belong to the book sagas author Miss Stephanie Meyer. Any and all mistakes are my own. **

**Final word count 758**

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><p><em>Here come the man,<em>  
><em>With the look in his eyes.<em>  
><em>Fed on nothing,<em>  
><em>But full of pride.<em>  
><em>Look at them go,<em>  
><em>Look at them kick.<em>  
><em>Makes you wonder,<em>  
><em>How the other half live.<em>  
><em>The other half live,<em>  
><em>How the other half, live.<em>

_The devil inside, the devil inside,_  
><em>Every single one of us, the devil inside,<em>  
><em>The devil inside, the devil inside,<em>  
><em>Every single one of us, the devil inside.<em>

_The devil inside, the devil inside, and_  
><em>Every single one of us, the devil inside,<em>  
><em>And, every single<em>  
><em>Every single one of, us..<em>  
><em>The devil inside...<em>  
><em>Devil inside...<em>  
><em>The devil...<em>  
><em>Devil inside...<em>

_"__Devil Inside" – London Grammar_

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><p>The pastor is having a fit.<p>

Not in a fit of pique, but a fit of madness. His body, lay behind the alter convulsing, his head shaking and emitting blood-curdling screams. How long he has been like this I do not, nor do I wish to know, judging from the crowd forming a circle around him , he must've have been here for quite some time.

They are murmuring amongst themselves, saying that someone should act. _Call the captain, bring him some water, hold him down, do something. _

No one does. They just stand there, vacant, too afraid to approach him.

From what I later heard, he was halfway through a sermon when his head suddenly shot back, his eyes glazing over as he fell to the ground.

I am taller than most, yet even I have to stretch to see from my position behind a well-built blacksmith. I catch glimpses of the form, clad in black, wracked head to toe with spasms, back arcing, legs kicking and arms clawing out at the empty air above.

Another minute of this passes, filled with the crowd's near-silence and the pastor's incoherent screams echoing off the ceiling and around the vast cavernous main hall of Our Fair Lady of Florence, The Duomo, Santa Maria del Fiore cathedral.

It becomes apparent that none of the onlookers haven't the slightest inclination towards helping the man, so I push through the dozen or so people ahead of me and into the clearing bordered by tensed bodies and expectant muscles.

It's strange to have so many eye focused solely on me and my actions when a few steps ahead there is a man writhing like he'd been set on fire.

"Father?" I try; walking slowly and slightly crouched closer to the podium. "Father Jeremiah?" I know that there is little hope of response to what I am saying, but I approach him like an animal in distress. My brother and I grew up on a farm, are still farmers. I know to _never_ spook a horse. You have to approach slowly, from the side, so that the horse can see you, and speak softly to let it know you are there.

I reach the steps that lead to the alter, a body's length away from the pastor, and find myself wishing that I had grabbed one of the candle sticks in the church to defend myself with should things go awry.

I kneel down beside him.

"Father Jeremiah?" I try one more time, and reach out my hand to try and calm him.

The second before I touch him, his left arm reaches up and grabs a hold of my wrist. His grip like a vice, squeezing my arm with inhuman strength. I start to feel my hand going numb and see the skin slowly turn pale. He is preventing the blood from flowing to my hand.

He reaches up with his other hand and grabs my shoulder, forcing me closer. The priest is a slight man, and under normal circumstances I could have easily overpowered him.

But now I stand no chance.

My ear is no more than an inch away from his quivering mouth when he speaks, just loud enough for me to hear.

"Fear the man," he says as his spit flies into my face. I close my eyes, too late. "Fear not the beast." His hold tightens on my arm, and I feel his nails about to break my skin. "Fear the creature in-between."

"What…" I tried to speak but he only grips me tighter.

"Your sins, Sam, your sins are alive." He says, as I hear the tell-tale crack of bone breaking.

The pastor loosens his hold, and allows me to move away a little. I smell the blood before I see it, staining his lips and trickling down the corner of his mouth. He spoke again, louder this time. His words a deafening roar in the silent hall.

"Unholy!" he screams, blood spraying across the marble floor. "Unholy creature!"

His voice gurgle through the thick crimson liquid.

He lets go of me then as I quickly retreat, shaking. I force my way back into the crowd, tenser than I had ever been, as I peer back to take one more look at the pastor.

"Unholy! Unholy!" he chants. "Kill the beast! Unholy beast!" the pastor's legs and left arm shuddering uncontrollably, but his right arm remains steadfast, pointing at something in the distance. I follow the trajectory with my eyes.

"Unholy beast!"

He is pointing at my brother.

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><p><strong>AN: So there you have it the third chapter is officially over. The mystery of our dear boys location is revealed, Florence, Italy. Fitting no? Can anybody guess as to what events will occur in the next chapter? And what of the mystery surrounding Paul? Leave me a review to let me know your theories, and if you don't well I'm certainly not going to force you to, though it's nice to hear your thoughts on the matter. <strong>

**The next chapter will be uploaded within the hour if I am determined enough to have it finished by then. **

**In response to a review, yes this is in Sam's point of view and will most likely remain so throughout the story, although I am not opposed to a Pauls point of view. Also yes, in this story Paul and Sam are brothers, and Isabella is Paul's wife. Simply put I like the pairing. **

**Well that's all I think.**

**Tah Tah for now **

**_Fenrir Vanagandr ~_**


	4. The Rope of the Dead

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight series or any of the characters used in the making of this story, they belong to the book sagas author Miss Stephanie Meyer. Any and all mistakes are my own.**

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><p><em>All my life they let me know<br>How far I would not go  
>But inside the beast still grows waiting<br>Chewing through the ropes_

_Who are you to change this world?_  
><em>Silly Boy!<em>  
><em>No one needs to hear your words.<em>  
><em>Let it go.<em>

_Carnivore! Carnivore!_  
><em>Won't you come digest me?<em>  
><em>Take away everything I am.<em>  
><em>Bring it to an end.<em>  
><em>Carnivore! Carnivore!<em>  
><em>Could you come and change me?<em>  
><em>Take away everything I am.<em>  
><em>Everything I am.<em>

_"__Carnivore" – Starset_

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><p>When my brother was still my brother there had been another body. Several bodies, in fact.<p>

The officers were worried. I guess everyone was. Whatever was killing people was getting much, much braver. Deaths from frostbite and malnutrition are a given because of the season, and the occasional rabid dog attack or murder is not that uncommon either. But this winter's numbers were unprecedented. I'd kept a record of every body that had been found.

The first body, as I've told you once before, was found in the early hours of the morning. It was the fifth day of winter. A man in his early thirties. A friend of my brothers. A hunter.

The second body showed up three weeks later. The same general description: male, young family, hunter, killed in his house in the middle of the night. The next few killings went the same way. All men, all in their thirties.

Then, about a month ago, there was an announcement made at mass warning the townspeople to be extra cautious, that there was a creature lurking about somewhere out there enshrouded in shadows somewhere in the dark.

The chief officer, Captain du Conti, and a few of his men came into the church to issue the announcement, said that they weren't entirely sure what the beast was, but that they suspected that it was a particularly large and aggressive wolf. A clever one at that.

They announced that they would be taking the city's best men, who as it happened also seemed to be the beast's favoured victims, on a hunt the following week. They would slay the beast and end its reign of terror upon our fair city.

After the service, the Captain waited just outside the door, pulling out every well-built, strong looking man with broad shoulders as they passed. As expected, both my brother and I were pulled aside.

"The del Romagne brothers," Du Conti said. "I've heard from many mouths that you two are said to be quite the archers."

He referenced both of us, but his gaze rest solely on my brother. I knew the compliment was directed at him, and that captain was probably talking to me more out of courtesy than anything else. I was fair enough with a bow, as was to be expected of men like me who grew up on a farm, but I had no exceptional talent. My brother, on the other hand, was remarkable. In archery, as in anything else. Always sharper. Always faster.

Always closer.

"I'd like you both to accompany us on our hunt." Du Conti tapped his fingers upon on the hilt of his sword, making the sheath shake slightly. "Will you aid us?"

I looked to my brother first. It was as clear in his mind, as he was Paul Romagne, already fixed on the hunt. His eyes were directed away from me, but I knew he wasn't quite looking at the constable either. There was a kind of pleasant absence in them, and I knew he was already imagining the glory he would receive when he rode back into town, the severed head of the beast staining his satchel a deep crimson.

"It seems that we are going then." I said.

The next week, before we left for the hunt, the captain made sure that the whole hunting party was accounted for and provided us with details pertaining to the hunt that had not previously been mentioned at mass.

"I know you are all ready to hunt a wolf," Du Conti said, "but I must confess that my men and I were not entirely truthful when we spoke to you all at mass."

The crowd tensed. A few of the men frowning.

"Whatever we're hunting, it is no ordinary beast."

"You don't say…" Jared interrupted, looking at the other men and earning agreeing nods. "This thing's taken seventeen lives since the start of winter. Grown me, too. Friends of mine."

Another round of nods from the group.

"Now I say we cut the talk short and kill this son of a bitch!"

Jared locked his jaw and tapped the hilt of his spear hard on the ground. The other hunters all roared their agreement.

"Now what a second!" the captain said, raising his voice just loud enough so that he could be heard. "I know that you're all eager, but we would be fools to simply rush off into those woods."

The crowd quieted. A few of the men grunted. My brother rolled his eyes, thankfully Du Conti didn't see.

"This beast is not only fearsome, as we have all seen by the destruction and shear brutality in its kills, but it has intelligence and behaviours beyond that of any normal creature."

"Like breaking into locked houses without so much as a sound?" Jared suggested.

"Yes," the captain nodded at Jared, "but beyond that, what do we know of wolves' gentlemen?"

The crowd was still for a moment, unsure if the question was rhetorical or not.

"Well?" the captain pushed.

"Um…we know that wolves hunt in packs," the pastor said.

"Yes, Father. What else do we know?"

"We know that they are abundant around this time of year," said Call, one of my brother's other hunting friends. At least I think it was Call. It's hard to tell, they all look the same. (Call died two weeks ago, five days after his comment at the meeting. Also the creature's handy work.)

"Yes," the captain replied slowly, "but what else, men? Come on think!"

The captain was pushing for the right answer. It was quiet for a while, no one wanting to give the wrong answer. My brother was the one who broke the vow of silence.

"The wolves hunt the weak," he said, and the rest of the crowd nodded in the affirmative.

"Exactly," the captain grunted. "And these men, our fallen comrades, they were not weak men, were they?"

A resounding no came from the group.

"Exactly. So, why did it kill these men? In each one of those houses there was a woman and at least one child, all of whom were left unharmed. Now, you and I might have the honour not to harm women or children, but I can assure that wolves have _no_ such honour."

The group was quiet.

Someone coughed and asked the question at the forefront of all our minds.

"So just what are we hunting, captain?"

The rest of the crowd listened closely, tense with anticipation.

"I do not know. But it is unlike anything we have ever encountered before."

In case you haven't guessed it by now, that morning's hunt was resoundingly unsuccessful. But we didn't know that when we set out. No, we were confident.

Far, far too confident.

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><p><strong>AN: The fourth chapter is officially complete! Having any doubts yet? Any raised suspicions? Leave a comment and let me know. <strong>

**This will be the last chapter of the evening until tomorrow, and the following chapter will be posted late tomorrow night. **

**Thank you for reading.**

**Tah Tah for now**

**_Fenrir Vanagandr ~_**


	5. The Enemies of Man

**AN: Hello everyone, I am terribly sorry that I have not updated in a couple of days as life just seemed to get away with me. However I am back now, and am currently working on the next chapter. I keep failing to mention that this is an AU fiction, and for that I apologise. I would also like to say thank you to those of you who have followed and favourited this story, it means the world to me. If you haven't, I thank you for taking the time to read my work and I hope you continue to do so. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight series or any of the characters used in the making of this story, they belong to the book sagas author Miss Stephanie Meyer. Any and all mistakes are my own.**

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><p><em>Even a well-lit place, can hide salvation<br>A map to a one man maze that never sees the sun  
>Where the lost are the heroes<br>And the thieves are left to drown  
>But everyone knows by now<br>Fairy-tales are not found  
>They are written in the walls<em>

_As we walk in a straight line_  
><em>Down in the dirt with a landslide approaching<em>  
><em>But nothing could ever stop us<em>  
><em>From stealing our own place in the sun<em>  
><em>We will face the odds against us<em>  
><em>And run into the fear we run from<em>

_It has begun_  
><em>Into the dark below<em>  
><em>Evading shadows<em>  
><em>Blind in a rabbit's hole<em>  
><em>We fall beneath the earth<em>  
><em>And watch the shell come unravelled<em>  
><em>As the seeds begin to rise<em>  
><em>Awaking a starlit fate as we wait in the night<em>  
><em>It's written in the walls<em>

_"It Has Begun" – Starset_

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><p>I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of howling.<p>

This would have been no odd occurrence were it not for the proximity of the sound. For this was no distant call from the shrouded forests that surround our city.

This is close. It is the moment lightning strikes a tree in your garden, and it is no longer distant, inconsequential threat, it is the moment the threat becomes all too real.

The howl is coming from outside my door.

My _bedroom _door.

This is impossible. After all, I have been extremely cautious with locking my doors and bolting my windows of the evening ever since the killing started.

Then comes the scratching. Practically non-existent at first. In another time, I would have passed it off as rats. But my senses are already wakened by the fear brought on by the instant howling. Scrapes that appear as though they come from inside the walls, as I hear a painfully high pitched keening as whatever it is increases its fervour, peeling off wood chips, until it shakes the very foundation of my home.

I pull the covers tighter around me, instantly regretting the refusal of Jared's invitation to the tavern.

I call out into the darkness.

"Who's there? What do you want?" I try to keep my voice steady, calm, strong, but what comes out is something between a whimper and a twisted scream.

There is a growl, soft, low and long, at the foot of my bed. Or am I imaging things? There is enough moonlight filtering through the air that I should've at least been able to see a faint outline of the creature, but there is absolutely nothing, I can see the floorboards where it should have been.

More than that, my door didn't creak; rattle of make the slightest movement. But there is no mistaking the disturbing feeling of not being alone in this room. The air was warmed slightly and, though it could be the product of my rising heart rate, the change feels unnatural.

And then it's gone.

The howling, the growls, the 'presence' at the foot of my bed. It all vanishes and I feel as alone as I have ever felt.

I realise now I was certain I was about to die; that this was how all of the beasts other victims were killed, I had imagined them finding my body, my blood staining the walls and my intestines strewn about like hay on a barn floor, a macabre art display for their viewing pleasure. I imagined the women and children trying to cover their eyes, the huntsmen cursing themselves for not killing the beast. And my brother, or whoever is pretending to be my brother…

What would he have done?

My back is slick with sweat, and the bed covers coat me like lead. I push them off of my body and lie back down, taking quick, exaggerated breaths.

Part of me is expecting the beast to come back and finish its business. My eyes flick over to the door and back to the ceiling to watch for any movements.

Why didn't it kill me as it had killed the others? Is it even the same creature? Should I mention it to the other hunters? Will they believe me?

I swing my feet out of the bed, knowing there was no way I could sleep again and stand up. As soon as I straighten my back I feel dizzy and immediately sit back down again.

A strong breeze rattles through the open window, which I had most certainly not left open before falling into a night of restless sleep. My arms break out in gooseflesh. The curtains dance wildly and whip around in my cluttered room, knocking over an unlit lantern and a mug, spilling water on to the floor.

I get up again, with greater success this time, and walk over to the window. Fiddling with the locks, I bolt it shut again, surprised by how well my eyes have adjusted to the darkness.

But before I go back to bed, to stare up at the ceiling until the sun rose, I look out of the window and over the fields. And I see Paul, walking towards the wall.

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><p><strong>AN: There you have it. Another chapter has ended. To those of you have been following this story, do you have any ideas on the enigma that is Paul and the mystery surrounding his return? If you do let me know, as I love hearing your thoughts on the matter. <strong>

**Tah Tah for now**

**_Fenrir Vanagandr ~ _**


	6. The Fall from Heaven

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight series or any of the characters used in the making of this story, they belong to the book sagas author Miss Stephanie Meyer. Any and all mistakes are my own.**

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><p><em>Mayday! Mayday!<em>

_The ship is slowly sinking_

_They think I'm crazy but they don't know the feeling_

_They're all around me,_

_Circling like vultures_

_They wanna break me and wash away my colors_

_Wash away my colors_

_Take me high and I'll sing_

_Oh you make everything okay (okay, okay)_

_We are one in the same_

_Oh you take all of the pain away (away, away)_

_Save me if I become_

_My demons_

_**"**__My Demons" – Starset_

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><p>"Forgive me father, for I have sinned."<p>

I will admit that I am not half as religious as I try to pretend to be. Of course, I'm in the pew every Sunday, but, if I am being honest, it's motivated more by a need for acceptance than a desire to worship. Most of the time my mind would drift from the preachers words, focusing instead on what I would have for dinner later that evening or whether or not I would go to the tavern the next day. I do not pray before meals or before bed unless there is a witness to my piousness, and I _never_ went to confession.

But there is a first time for everything.

"My last confession was…" I rake back to a few childhood memories of forced confessions of sins that hardly justified the term. "I don't recall."

I can't quite recall the full process of confession and I am far too embarrassed to consult anyone else on the matter, so I decide to go with what I remembered.

"So, um, I guess I should start then?" I chuckle, trying to make my voice seem more relaxed. But there is no point. My voice, my hands, my whole body was shaking.

"If you wish," the priest says from the other side of the wooden mesh, his voice young and smooth, calm and collected. I can't see much through the screen, but I can tell that he hasn't so much as turned his neck since he stepped into the confessional.

"Well, um, I missed mass three times this year."

I know it doesn't seem like much of a sin, but it's the first thing that comes to my mind. You must understand, I am not a 'sinner' at heart. I am a good man. I know it, and everyone in the city of Florence who know me would tell you so.

I am a good man who did one bad thing.

One very bad thing.

On the other side of the screen the priest murmurs something that I can't quite make out.

I am not sure what he is supposed to say, if he is supposed to comment or if he only speaks at the end. After some time scanning through my memories for times I misbehaved, I have compiled quite a nice little list of minor sins.

"I stole a quill once, when I was fourteen. I t was a nice quill too. Pristine condition, I used it every day. Once when I brought it to class, all the other boys became jealous.

I shouldn't go into much detail with my confessions. The priest probably just wants me to run through them as quickly as I can. But I don't want to reach the end of the list.

"I used to get into fights with some of the boys from my school. I was a lot bigger than they were, so it wasn't hard, it went on until I graduated, then they started hurting me instead." I chuckled again. "I hit my sister once or twice too, I feel terrible about that. I mean we were young, I think I was about seven years old, she was five, and to this day I still wish I could apologise to her for it."

In case I haven't mentioned it yet, I have a sister, well I had a sister. She's dead. Officially, she's 'missing', but she has been gone over a year and a half now, and there is little chance that someone with my sisters build could survive _one night_ outside in a winter like this.

I am all out of other sins. It is time to do what I came here for. I have to tell him what I swore I would never tell another soul. I think the priest can tell, by the long silence, that I am getting ready for one hell of a confession.

I breathe deeply, running over the words in my mind one more time, and speak.

"I have willingly, and intentionally, slain a man, Father."

I can hear the priest stifling a gasp on the other side of the screen. Has he ever heard a confession like this before? Is he wondering what to do? What are the options racing through his mind: stay quiet, scream, run away? Run and tell the captain? I didn't get a good look at him, but I know that he is one of the younger priests. He has probably not had much experience with hosting sermons on his own, let alone taking confessions from murderers.

"Oh," is all he says.

Suddenly I can't handle being in there anymore, I burst out of the small chamber and start to run, sprinting across the stone floor. My footsteps echo around the cavernous main hall, and the pews flash past in my peripheral vision, blurring into a fleeting brown mass.

I stop just before one of the many identical doors which lead to the outside, and try to regain some semblance of a normal appearance. I hear the priest behind me, but I know he hasn't seen my face and I pray that he has no idea of who I am.

I open the door and step outside. Shutting the door behind me I check that I am alone, so that I can slip away unnoticed.

I'm not.

Paul is leaning against the wall, right next to me, grinning from ear to ear. But the smile doesn't reach his eyes. No, there is darkness there.

"Hello brother. We haven't really had much chance to talk lately."

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><p><strong>AN: The sixth chapter is officially done! I look forward to uploading chapter 7, as you have no idea how much fun it was to write it. The title of the next chapter is 'The Serpent' any guesses as to what may be occurring next? Leave a comment and let me know.<strong>

**Tah Tah for now**

**_Fenrir Vanagandr ~ _**


	7. The Serpent

_Oh my brother_

_you've fallen from grace_

_you took her love_

_and it hit her face_

_Now you're grown _

_to walk alone_

_you can't come home_

_Oh my tester _

_you've lost your song _

_you used his pain _

_to make your love_

_Won't you see _

_all alone _

_and you can't come home_

_"__Home" – Tj & Cait_

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><p>Do you know what you should do if you encounter a bear? Your first instinct, of course would be to run. People always want to run away from their problems; particularly when their problem is a massive bear.<p>

But running is the last thing you should do. It makes you appear weak, an easy target. Start running and the bear will start running too – a damn sight faster than you.

Paul steps around the meat, inspecting it from every angle. A sliver of fat falls of the hunk of meat, and the fire groans and hisses. He sticks his knife into one side of the beef, and pulls it out again.

Still bloody.

He wipes the knife on his pants leg, once on each side, and sits down on the other side of the fire.

"It'll take a while yet," he says.

The man looks at me, I am still unsure as what to call him. He is not my brother. He is not Paul. 'The man' seemed to suffice for a while, but then I became unsure of even that. He…it…must be something different, surely. How else can I be here, sharing the smell of roasting meat with a dead man?

We're on one of the dirt pathways that mark the borders between different farms, just far enough from the safety of the city to make this interaction uncomfortable.

We've been here for about an hour, just playing this game. His game. Where I try to keep my voice steady, and he stalks. We talk about recent hunts and the price of decent brew and how the cold won't be good for the crops and a hundred other things that are of little consequence whatsoever.

"So, Sam…" he says, and by the way he shifts and the tenor of his voice, I know that this is the moment. We are no longer wasting time, walking towards a location that I hoped we would never reach. We have arrived, and I felt like I was about to die.

Every muscle in me tenses. A rush of blood flooding my face, leaving me red and hot. My breath turns heavy, joining in with the chorus of soft winds that makes the fire between us dance.

He senses my reaction.

"You're a killer," he says.

He lacks emotion, conviction, and anything else that would have been an appropriate human reaction.

Because he, after all, is not human.

I don't know what to say. What can I say to a statement like that? Deny it? Oh no, that would truly be a pointless venture. So I just stay still, clenching both of my fists and trying to focus on something, anything, that doesn't make me feel like throwing up.

"Meet me by that place," he says "you know the one with the trap, where your brother died."

I don't say anything.

The man screams, and turns away running into the forest.

I sit there for a long while. Where else did I have to go?

It seems like no time at all until someone stumbles across the campfire light. It's Jared, and he looks worried. "Sam, what happened? I heard a scream?"

I know that it's time for me to start acting, and well, I'd done it once before when Paul went missing, hadn't I? I could do it again.

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><p><strong>AN: Hello everyone, I am so sorry for not updating in what has been over a month! I have had a lot of coursework to get through, plus my nieces christening among other things, so it has been a little bit hectic over on my end. I thank those of you that are still reading and following my story, even though the updates have been inconsistent. Make no mistake the next chapter will be posted within the next couple of days, as half-term is coming up, which gives me a whole week to write and post a couple of chapters. <strong>

**I am also planning on posting a new story either today or tomorrow. Yes I know I probably shouldn't, considering I have The Blood Of Brothers and The Wolves of Paris to update, but I can't help it. My muse is screaming at me, and I must do as she commands. **

**Once again thank you all for following and taking the time to read my story an also I'm sorry for the really long authors note, I didn't expect it to be this long. **

**Tah tah for now. **

**_Fenrir Vanagandr ~ _**


	8. The Blood Of Man

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight series or any of the characters used in the making of this story, they belong to the book sagas author Miss Stephanie Meyer. Any and all mistakes are my own.**

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><p><em>We were racing down a road littered with crosses<em>

_Right down to Jalama beach and even though we missed the sunset_  
><em>We jumped over barbed wire and cacti<em>  
><em>Just to fall into the sea, skinny dipping' youngin's, you and I<em>

_We're built to last_  
><em>We're built to last<em>  
><em>Oh, We're built to last<em>  
><em>We're built to last<em>

_Well now it's clear you're the wind and I'm the wave_  
><em>Oh together we can brave all the things we never knew<em>  
><em>So I'm making room on a boat I built for one<em>  
><em>We can sail into the sun, till our skin's as tough as diamonds<em>

_We're built to last_  
><em>We're built to last<em>  
><em>Oh, We're built to last<em>  
><em>We're built to last<em>

_Oh We're built to last_  
><em>We're built to last<em>

_If our ship does sink we will follow it like stones_  
><em>From the wreckage build a home<em>  
><em>From the wreckage build a home<em>

_"From the Wreckage Build a Home" – The Wind and The Wave_

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><p>"We don't have any choice!" he booms, both hands flat and tense on the table. "We kill them before we kill us! It's all we can do!"<p>

"And how many will die in the fight?" Jared cut in.

"My man, how many will die if we don't fight? These animals will not stop, they will not be sated. You've all seen their handiwork. Are we to just sit here, continuing to trust in the safety of those walls, and hope that none of us are killed in our sleep?" There's a vague murmur of agreement through the crowd, but there was no mistaking the incredible apprehensiveness.

These men were hunters, not fighters. They were the predators, the stalkers, always in the dominant position. What would happen if their prey chose fight over flight?

"We'd have to draw them in." Jared said, begrudgingly stepping back in line with the others. It was written on his face; he didn't like this plan, but he knew as well as any of us that we had to defend our home or wait to be slaughtered like sheep.

"The cathedral." I blurted out, mouth before mind. The two men before me, both much taller and wider than I, angle their bodies so I could just barely emerge from the crowd. I stepped forward, brushing past burly men a foot taller than me, all their eyes glued to my back, waiting for me to speak. Like somehow, now that Paul was gone again, I was supposed to take his place. I was a Romagne still, and somehow that made them think that I could solve this, that I'd become my brother. That with my brother gone a second time, I wouldn't pull the same routine of withdrawal from society.

"Santa Maria del Fiore cathedral," I repeated.

No-one said anything, no-one changed their expression.

"First, we get all the women and children safe inside the cellar. We lead them to the steps, and set up traps close to the door. Then we run inside and bolt all the doors and wait there until the traps go off."

"And if the traps aren't enough?" Jared asked, the first to speak. His tone wasn't teasing, rather serious. He was actually considering the idea.

"If need be, we use archers. We can put some men on the roofs of nearby buildings, pick them off one by one." Everyone starts to visualise the plan, a daydream forming and playing over and over again on the other side of their eyes. It seems simple, simple enough to work. The men start to warm up to the idea, warm up to me, and eventually start to participate in ironing out the details.

"How many archers?" Someone asks.

"Who'll make the traps?" Says another.

Soon enough, everyone has split off into groups. Different professions took on different roles. Each huddled around, discussing what they were to accomplish, and how. Some of them had already left, stomping through the cold outside in search of materials or more men.

I stand alone.

Soon the plan will come to fruition. Whether it worked or not, the streets would run either way. It was nearly time for us to fight for our city, for the safety of our population. For our very lives, and very soon, I would face the thing that looks like my brother.

I fear that moment most of all.

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><p><strong>AN: Will Sam's plan work or is it doomed to fail? I guess we'll just have to wait and see. Until the next chapter. <strong>

_**Fenrir Vanagandr ~ **_


	9. The Sun and the Moon

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight series or any of the characters used in the making of this story, they belong to the book sagas author Miss Stephanie Meyer. Any and all mistakes are my own.**

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><p><em>Always a riddle in the world she said<br>Always a riddle inside my head  
>Always a thing of wonder<br>The way we come to be_

_Oh it's a big old place for me_  
><em>Yeah it's a big old world indeed<em>  
><em>Everyone is killing me and everything conspires<em>

_In dreams I have watched it spin_  
><em>Seen the violent crack of<em>

_atoms where all light comes in  
>In dreams I have lain in sin<br>Just to be the cracked and the cared for_

_How can I ask, ask for more?_

_Always a riddle in the world she said_  
><em>Always a riddle inside my head<em>  
><em>Always a thing of wonder<em>  
><em>The way we come to be<em>

_Oh it's a big old place for me_  
><em>Well<em>

_it's a big old world indeed  
>Been kicking my heels and wondering how I've been here so long<br>In dreams I have watched it spin  
>Seen the violent crack of atoms where all light comes In<br>In dreams I have seen aesops kin  
>Just the carcass of a man now alone inside his skin<em>

_Mmmm mmmmm mmmm_

_Where to, where to begin?_

_"In Dreams" – Ben Howard_

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><p>That time is upon us.<p>

A steady stream of women and children are walking through the double doors, one of the constables men at either side. I haven't seen anyone remotely important pass through into safety yet, but we still have countless hours to go until nightfall.

A small complaint of mine; why does the plan have to take place under cover of darkness? Surely the archers would have a much easier time of completing their task if they could actually see their targets. Nonetheless, we don't have much choice. Wolves aren't exactly renowned for their love of crisp winter mornings.

I've never seen this square so busy; not even on the first day of market after harvest. People of all ilk, butchers and hunters and blacksmiths and guardsmen, are all milling around. All trying to find out how they can be useful. Where they fit in; which brick they should be in in the wall of defence of our city.

I am less concerned about the wolves.

Thankfully, due to the various crates and moving people obscuring everyone's view, no-one notices that I am doing nothing; Just leaning against a brick wall, concentration half way between the Santa Maria del Fiore and the confrontation I was preparing for. I already know what my duty is to be: archery. In any other time, I wouldn't have been considered for such a critical position, but Paul isn't hear to soak up the praise, and most of the best hunters are either making trips or stationed with the women and children should our defences fail.

We decided that a dozen archers would be sufficient. I barely made the cut.

The plan hadn't diverged much from my initial suggestion. We'd lay out meat to lure the pack into the city (though I doubt they'd need much luring, to be honest) and when they reached the cathedral; we'd be ready. Waiting with bear traps and spears and a vengeance for those we've lost.

There's a chance I need not do anything, if the trips get them all.

Despite the weeks we've spent under tyranny, we still don't know much about the pack. What the alpha looks like, if any are sick, even how many there are. The general guess is about a dozen, so we're making traps accordingly.

Something in me tells me that I should warn them; tell them that these are no ordinary wolves. But no, that would only serve to cause more panic, and panic is a luxury we cannot afford at this point it time.

If I do end up having to take up a bow, I hope that I will get the chance to slip away. Getting out of the cathedral is going to prove challenging, no doubt, given the state of lockdown we're in.

Part of me wants nothing more than to stay behind in the safe confines of these stone walls, but I remember what Paul said, I believe him. If I don't go willingly, then he will never stop hunting me. Ten to one, he's going to kill me this night. I would rather die tonight than live in constant fear of when he would come for me.

"Romagne!" someone calls out. It takes me a second to register that he is calling me. My brother had always more fitting of the family name. Our fathers name. He was signore Romagne. I was just Sam.

"Yes?" I called back, not sure where to turn. There was too much cross firing speech to find out where the voice had come from.

A young man jogs up and stops a few feet shy of me. I don't recognise him. He'd holding a scroll in one hand, and looks between me and the paper.

"Sam Romagne?" he asks.

"Yes."

"The archers are practicing, and testing their equipment near the barracks." He points east. "You know where?"

"Yes."

"Good. You join them. Do you have a bow with you?"

What a pointless question. I raise both my hands to show that no, I am not carrying anything.

"They will have a spare," he says. "Good luck"." He turns away from me, looking down at his paper, and keeps walking.

I push myself off of the wall, and head towards the barracks. The square is full of people, but I don't think I've ever felt more alone than in this very moment. Separated from everyone by that one secret, that one mistake that started all of this.

We've got maybe two and a half hours left to practice; wipe off the rust that may have formed over our skills. Maybe that will be enough. I don't wish for any optimism to find me, but alas, it does; and somewhere in the back of my mind I find myself wondering, hoping that for the first time in my life I might best my brother.


End file.
